


Faded

by phrenitis



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-04
Updated: 2006-10-04
Packaged: 2017-11-14 21:28:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/519687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phrenitis/pseuds/phrenitis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She remembers her office suddenly, is caught in a vague memory that smells of the sea and tightens her chest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faded

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: Season Three, _The Return_

He arrives at her door in well-worn jeans that hang awkwardly on his hips as though he doesn’t quite remember how to wear them. Mission reports are piled high in the box in his arms, a black marker _Kitchen_ written on one cardboard side.

She rests her forehead against the door, holding her hand flat against the wood as she tries to think of nothing and wonders why.

“Elizabeth,” he says softly with a hint of a smile. “Open the door.”

She does, but she’s a mess two feet behind and two inches below the surface, so she keeps it close, holds it tightly at her side. “John. It’s good to see you.”

He doesn’t say anything, but pushes at the door gently and invites himself past her. She remembers her office suddenly, is caught in a vague memory that smells of the sea and tightens her chest.

“I brought you some paperwork.” He indicates his box, stands awkwardly for a moment before setting it down. “I finally caught up on the reports.”

“Good. That’s good.” She clasps and unclasps her hands, stuck beside the door. She’s never noticed the way the afternoon light shines into her apartment or that she has curtains over her windows. “I hear they’re keeping you busy at the SGC.”

“They haven’t quite figured out what to do with me yet.” He walks to her phone, pushes the button on her voicemail.

_You have no new messages._

“I’ve been writing,” she explains although he doesn’t ask. “My memoirs. I always meant to write it all down.”

He sits on the arm of her couch, pulls his cell phone from his pocket to dial a number. “I have model planes.”

When she looks at him blankly, he uses a hand to mime a plane flying through the air.

“Oh,” she says.

Her phone rings. He looks at her expectantly and she blushes.

“Elizabeth, it’s John.” He speaks into his phone but watches her, his voice echoing softly from her answering machine. “So listen, I think there might be a problem with your phone.”

She tucks her hair behind her ear with a smile.

“Now I’m not an expert, but I’m sure Rodney can figure out something-”

“Okay, point made.”

He ignores her. “I know all this Earth technology can be overwhelming-”

She steps to the answering machine, stops the recording. “I think you fixed it.”

“You sure? I could leave another one, double check.”

They share a look as he puts away his phone, but something in it reads of feelings, and she looks away to draw invisible markings on her keypad. She doesn’t know what he expects of her.

“I did mean to call.” She traces a line down the 2 to the 5 to the 8. For a week after they returned, she would find herself trying to tap an earpiece that wasn't there.

His hand comes up, fingers mixing with hers over the phone as he pushes a button.

_You have one new message._

She waits, stays where she is although his knee presses lightly against the outside of her thigh and his hand rests warm in hers. His close presence is familiar, and memories of Atlantis make her heart race.

_Elizabeth, it’s John._

Another push of a button and his knee shifts forward until she’s standing profile between his legs. The words of a politician are suddenly on her tongue, _alliance_ and _demands_ and _my people_. It makes her tense with regret, and she turns her head to him.

_Message saved._

She never forgets she’s still on Earth.

“No excuses,” he says, gently untangling his hands from hers.

She nods when he stands and moves away, his back to her as he walks the few steps to the door. She isn’t sure if she’s glad.

He pauses before he steps into the hallway, faces her.

“What you’re writing...” He glances over at the open journal on her table. “I’m sure it’ll be great.”

He leaves, and she waits for the faint sound of the ocean that never comes.

 

- _Fin_


End file.
